“I can’t know,” Dr. Cooper said. “But I saw the silhouette of a woman in the window and she was not a woman I recognized.”
“Old or young?”
Dr. Cooper was silent long enough to draw Evelyn’s attention and she faced him, embarrassed to find his knowing glance watching her. “She was young. Younger than Julia, at least.”
And Julia was near the same age as Evelyn. She took the hint to mean that the visitor was younger, more beautiful and certainly a higher rank than Evelyn’s own. But perhaps that was her own fears manifesting themselves and not Dr. Cooper’s intent.
He had merely said the woman was young, and nothing more.
Evelyn shook her head. Did it matter if the woman was eligible and here for the duke? No. It did not matter, for Evelyn herself was not eligible for the duke—not even close.
And besides, the woman could easily be visiting the earl. Or married.
“You are exceedingly distracted, my lady,” Dr. Cooper said. “Allow me to take my leave.”
She shot him a wry smile. “You must not refer to me in such an inappropriate manner.”
“But if the men overheard…”
“They are gone. And I must end it, anyway. I have grown tired of the charade. It has drawn out entirely too long.”
Lifting her hand in his own, Dr. Cooper squeezed her fingers. “Good day, Miss Trainor. I wish you luck.”
With that, he left the room.
Chapter 10
The Chesford servants were scurrying about the corridors and up and down the large, curved staircase with purpose. Some carried luggage while others fastened evergreen boughs to the bannister and hung mistletoe above the entryway. Alverton stood beside Sanders in the main hall, listening to the activity and hoping with all his might that it was not due to visitors of the female variety.
“Where is my butler?” Sanders asked with disbelief.
The man appeared suddenly, causing both Alverton and Sanders to jump slightly.
“Do forgive me, my lord,” the butler said, bowing. “I was seeing to your guests.”
“Who are these guests?” Sanders asked. “I am not expecting anyone.”
Clearing his throat, the butler looked at Alverton. The duke’s stomach dropped. Oh, no.
“Her grace, the Duchess of Alverton has arrived with two women.”
“My grandmother?” Alverton asked.
“No, your grace. Your mother. And she has brought a Mrs. Rowe and a Miss Rowe.”
Alverton groaned, dropping his head back in frustration, and Sanders chuckled, clapping him on the back.
“I suppose I ought to greet my mother. Sanders,” Alverton said, facing his friend, “I apologize. Heartily.”
“Think nothing of it.”
Alverton took the stairs to the guest chambers. He shrugged from his bloody coat, leaving it in his own room before following his mother’s dignified, distinct tone to the correct chamber. Rapping his knuckles on the door, he stepped inside, relieved to find his mother surrounded by her own servants, but no one else.
He would put off seeing Miss Rowe with her cat-like smile and frilly curls as long as possible.
“Mother,” he said, his tone just short of scolding.
“Do not come in here and scold me, child. I reserve the right to wish to see my son on Christmas day.”
“And yet, you did not pause to consider that your sister might have wished to spend Christmas day with her own family?”
“Oh pish,” she said, lifting her nose in defiance. “Cassandra desired to see her dear cousin, and who was I or my sister to refuse the girl? Such a sweet disposition. And so very refined in her manners.”
Clasping his hands together behind his back, Alverton sought patience. “Mother, you must know—”
“Leave us,” she said crisply, forcing each of the three servants to pause at once. They dropped the items they were unpacking, or the bedclothes they were arranging, and filed from the room, the final maid closing the door softly behind her.
Mother lowered herself onto a brocade armchair beside the hearth, indicating the seat beside her. Alverton obeyed, clenching his jaw to guard his tongue against lashing out.
“It is your duty to wed, Alverton. You cannot put it off forever.”
“I do not intend to—”
“Allow me to speak,” Mother said harshly. “I have done my best to examine and filter the debutantes. I pride myself in supplying you with a wonderful selection of women. It is not as though I am allowing each and every title-hunting tart into our drawing room. Allow me the decency of accepting that I have your best interests in mind. For I have not set out to destroy your life, but to enrich it.”
“But my cousin, Mother? She is ridiculous.”
She speared him with a glare. “Your cousin comes from impeccable lineage. She is refined and capable of taking on the duties involved in becoming the next duchess. If you would only look past yourself then you might see the potential that lies within this alliance.”
Alverton fumed. He wanted to run from the room—nay, from the house itself—screaming at the world to leave him alone. But alas, that would make him appear as though he belonged in Bedlam. And he absolutely was not mentally unstable. He simply wanted to marry a woman who did not grate on his last nerve.
Was that really so much to ask for?
“Mother, I will say this one time, and I intend for it to be my last,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. He’d caught her attention and he held her gaze as he rose to his full height, affecting his power and strength in exhibiting his size. She might be his mother, but he was still the duke. “I will choose my wife. No one but I will have a say in the woman I choose to wed. And you may warn Miss Cassandra Rowe that if she puts herself in a position to be compromised, she will suffer the consequences alone. I will not have a repeat of the scenario in the billiards room. And I will not marry the girl just to save her reputation.”
Mother opened her mouth to speak but this time Alverton cut her off. “I promise to choose a woman of good breeding and social standing with the bearing and grace demanded of a duchess. But I will choose her.”
After one final, solid glare, Alverton turned away from his mother and left the room, ignoring her groan of irritation. He sped down the stairs and outside. He did not care if it was quite literally freezing outside, he needed to get away from the toxic nature of the house and breathe.
* * *
The women who arrived utterly uninvited to Chesford Hall were quite happy with the arrangements Sanders had made regarding Christmas festivities. They were more than happy to partake in a quiet feast without additional guests.
Alverton, on the other hand, was quite perturbed.
He stood at the top of the grand staircase as servants bustled about putting garland above the windows and tucking holly in the boughs. He listened to the women talk gaily between themselves through the open doorway in the drawing room and wondered where he ought to go to be away from them. It was Christmas Day. And he’d already had nearly as much as he could handle from his ridiculous cousin.
The day before, after running from his mother, he’d remained out of doors as long as his frozen limbs would allow and then begrudgingly took himself inside to change for dinner. The evening was spent ignoring Miss Rowe’s coquettish glances and fluttering eyelashes and doing his best to avoid entering into conversation.
Mother, of course, had pouted incessantly. But Alverton decided that ignoring her childish behavior was not a chore.
He was positive dinner this evening was going to be much of the same, and the idea made his stomach churn in discomfort. A high-pitched peal of laughter escaped the drawing room, traveling up the stairs and forcing him to flex his arms to combat his irritation. Grasping the stair rail, Alverton contemplated returning to his room.
But, no. He’d hidden himself away there all morning.
And where had Sanders got himself off to?
The poor man had done more than his share o
f holding the conversation at dinner the night before. If he had escaped for a break, it was well earned.
Taking himself downstairs, Alverton sought out the footman who stood post beside the front door and asked, “Where might I find Sanders?”
“He’s gone to see after young Harry Trainor, your grace.”
Of course. What a perfectly good idea that had been. The poor boy had hurt himself the day before Christmas and was likely downtrodden and disappointed. If only Alverton had thought of it himself. Or, even better, if Sanders had invited him along.
He let himself outside and began walking toward Sanders Grove and the game trail which he now understood would direct him to the house where Lady Eve was residing. He was still confused about the composition of her family, and who she was staying with in Derham.
Her aunt, Mrs. Chadwick, hadn’t been forthcoming the day before when Alverton subtly tried to question her on Lady Eve’s family. He could not blame the woman, however, when Harry lay on a couch just across the room writhing and moaning in pain—that was, until he’d passed out, the poor boy.
The woman had been quite interested in Sanders, however, and had gone so far as to extend him an invitation to dine on Christmas day. Sanders refused, but Alverton had wished it would have been appropriate to accept.
Alverton cared very little that Lady Eve had formed an attachment with another gentleman. After the ordeal in her library with Harry’s injury, Alverton was positive the man was Dr. Cooper. Given their familiarity and the proximity at which they had knelt beside the couch while the doctor administered to the boy, the two were clearly very close. Lady Eve deserved quite a bit more than the young doctor was prepared to offer her.
Alverton had talked himself into saying as much to Lady Eve. But then he had paused behind her and overheard her speaking to her brother about playing a game. Pirates, or some such thing. Her originality was refreshing and her love for her younger brother more than apparent.
And something about their interaction, coupled with her ease in the home of the Taylor family, forced Alverton to realize that perhaps there was more to Lady Eve than he realized. She was refined, graceful, beautiful and poised, and yet she spoke of imaginary pirates, took baskets of food to sick households, and did not faint at the sight of her young brother’s leg being stitched together by a surgeon.
And that voice. Alverton groaned aloud, bringing his hands up and running them through his hair.
Lady Eve was incredible. She might have claimed an attachment to another man, but she was not married yet.
With renewed vigor, Alverton continued down the game trail toward Lady Eve’s house. Birds were absent from the trees and the grove held a serenity about it which soothed him.
Which was partially why he was so utterly frightened when he turned on the trail and nearly ran directly into a woman standing still in the center of the narrow path with a cape around her shoulders and her face trained on the ground.
He recognized the cape. And her reddish-brown hair was the hair he’d spent quite a lot of time imagining in his mind.
“Lady Eve?” he asked. She looked to him, her face betraying red-rimmed eyes. The fact that she cried was further proven by a dainty sniffle and a subtle shake of her head.
Alverton stepped forward. “What is the matter, my lady?”
She laughed, though it was without humor. The sound frightened him, causing prickles to run down his neck. He stepped forward, reaching for her with one hand. “Please, tell me.”
“I know I must,” she said, her usually strong voice faltering. “I only wish it needn’t be so.”
Her ambiguity was not pleasant. He glanced around for a place to seat the distraught woman and eyed the large roots coming from the monstrous tree not far away. “May we sit?”
Nodding, Lady Eve took his arm and followed him to the tree, sitting on a root which jutted out in the perfect shape to form a small seat.
“It is my father,” she said, sniffling once more. “I feel so utterly useless to assist the man. I know I can be of help to him but he simply will not allow me to do so.”
“Assist him in what way?” Alverton asked, leaning against the trunk and folding his arms over his chest.
She sighed, using a handkerchief to wipe away stray tears. “He is ill, but I do not know the nature of what ails him. He refuses to confide in me. I wish for him to leave parliament and retire here, but he stubbornly refuses. And at what gain?”
“To make a difference in his country, I would assume.”
Lady Eve glanced up, catching his eye and smiling faintly. “He has done enough of that, I presume. It is time to consider his health before he’s taken from this world and my brothers left without a father.”
Alverton nodded. She made a valid point.
“Who is your—”
“But would you truly like to know what bothers me?” she asked, cutting him off. Her eyebrows were drawn together in concentration.
She was lovely, even in distress.
“What is it that bothers you?” he asked.
She drew in a shaky breath. “I simply want him to trust me. If he would but explain the nature of his illness, then perhaps I might be able to be of some assistance. But, no. Instead, he entreats my aunt to come with us to London and do her utmost to find me a husband. He does not want my help, your grace. He wants me gone.”
“But are you not engaged? Can that not be something which is easily attained?” he asked. Unless, of course, the man is unsuitable. Like, a doctor. “You needn’t answer that,” he continued. “Forgive my forwardness.”
Lady Eve watched him a moment, her unwavering gaze forcing him to swallow. She rose, coming to stand just before him. There was hardly more than a hand’s width between them and Alverton felt enlivened by her proximity. “I have not been completely honest with you, your grace.”
A sudden thump sounded above their heads and Alverton looked up to find a small boy peeking over the edge of the tree.
“Jack, what on earth are you doing up there?” Lady Eve asked, exasperated.
“Nothing.”
She turned toward the tree, her shoulder brushing Alverton’s arm and causing warmth to race up his shoulder toward his heart.
Lady Eve stepped away. Had she felt it too?
“Jack, come down here at once. It is not polite to eavesdrop.”
His small face fell. “But I was here first.”
Silence sat between the siblings a moment. It was true. The boy had been there first.
“Come,” she said. “Let us return home.”
“I was on my way to inquire after your brother,” Alverton said. “Will you be so good as to accompany me?”
Jack’s eyes lit up and he scrambled from the tree. He’d been much like a devoted puppy the day before, eagerly following Alverton as the duke transported Harry. But it was all worth it for the gratitude which shone in Lady Eve’s eyes. She took his offered arm and they set off toward the estate.
“You’re wrong, you know,” Jack said, skipping ahead of them. “Father did not ask Aunt Edith to marry you off so you would be forced to leave. He told her to find you a husband who could care for all of us.”
Lady Eve paused on the path, her hand slipping from his arm. Alverton halted, turning back to see her grief-stricken look, eyes wide with fear playing across her face. Jack skipped ahead, running from the woods and toward their house.
Alverton reached for her hand, against his better judgement, and held her fingers tightly. “You do not know what he means by that. He is simply a father doing his best to care for his children.”
“Why would it matter who I married if he did not fear his own demise?”
Alverton looked into Lady Eve’s stormy, tearful eyes and did not have an answer for her.
She blew out a shaky breath and seemed to be working to compose herself. No matter how he tried, he could not remove his eyes from her. Her dainty features were pink-tipped and rosy, and he longed to reach forward and wrap
her in a tight embrace.
It was an absurd notion, but he could not fight the feelings which arose of their own accord. He was very obviously developing feelings for this woman and it frightened him as much as it excited him.
“Who is your father?” he asked. “I must know him if he works in parliament, for I am heavily involved in Lords. Perhaps I might be able to do something to help.”
She cast her eyes to the forest floor, shaking her head slightly.
“What is the matter?” Alverton asked. He tightened his hold on her hand, reaching forward with the other to lift her face softly by the tip of her chin.
Alverton tried to lighten the moment with a smile, but all it seemed to do was force Lady Eve to step back. Pulling her hand from his grasp, she created a barrier between them of palpable space, her gaze darting everywhere but his face.
“You are beginning to worry me, my lady,” he said.
Her eyes squeezed closed and she shook her head. “No, do not call me that.”
Call her by her title? Confused, Alverton stepped forward. Lady Eve’s eyes shot open and she stepped back as well. Panic seemed to filter through her. “No. I am not…that is, I meant to tell you earlier, but I did not know how to say it.”
He waited. Apprehension fell over him, and he watched the struggle play out over her face.
“I am not Lady Eve, your grace.” Bringing her gaze up to meet his, she said, “I am no lady at all.”
Chapter 11
He did not step away from her, but Evelyn could see the distance forming between them regardless.
“What do you mean, you are not a lady?”
She swallowed, doing her best to hold his gaze. “I am Miss Evelyn Trainor, daughter to Mr. Trainor of the House of Commons. I only told you I was Lady Eve because—”
“You lied,” he said plainly. His face transformed to stone.
Evelyn nodded. “Yes, but only because I did not anticipate seeing you again.”
Alverton took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Did you not expect that I might find you interesting enough to pursue?”
A Duke For Lady Eve (Belles 0f Christmas Book 5) Page 9